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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684107">An Abomination Goddess' Guide to Farming, Friendship, and Romance in the Mortal Realm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosetinteddreamer/pseuds/rosetinteddreamer'>rosetinteddreamer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stardew Valley (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aaaand the mythology/religion., Angst, Angst and Humor, Awkwardness, Best Friends, Dirty Jokes, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Like A Lot of Dirty Jokes, Love Triangles, Male-Female Friendship, Maybe I went too far with the headcanons..., Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Probably has something to do with her raging Napoleon complex, Relationship(s), Seriously though Chaney is an absolute trashmouth, Slow Burn, Weird Plot Shit, especially later on</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:48:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,885</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosetinteddreamer/pseuds/rosetinteddreamer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a bit hard to start from the beginning for Chaney. Probably since she's older than 'the beginning,' but who knows?</p><p>Once a culmination of sin walking the immaterial plane to find and consume the souls of the damned, Rotsabel the Devourer finds herself forced into a brand-new mortal form to atone for a fatal mistake. Armed with nothing but a new name, new body, and a vague knowledge of human society, Chaney is abandoned by Yoba to face the unfamiliar and terrifying challenges of the corporeal haven of Pelican Town. But with some luck, friendship, and her wise-cracking, man-chasing brother by her side she's determined to reclaim her rightful place.</p><p>There's also a little romance in there. Just a smidge. Totally won't take over at any point.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elliott/Female Player (Stardew Valley), Elliott/Player (Stardew Valley), Emily/Female Player (Stardew Valley), Emily/Player (Stardew Valley)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Beast Weeps (and a Brief Summary of How She Got Into This Mess)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Tired and defeated, the beast wept into the void. And so too, did Yoba weep. For his daughter's evil, though great, was not one he would punish her for.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Rotsabel's mass of hearts beat slower and slower, penetrated by the seven holy blades of her brothers and sisters, Yoba's children. The soul she had taken was pure, but she had known this not, and took it anyway. Once-writhing limbs grew weaker and weaker, while the universe around her grew more vivid. Her senses were overloaded with new perception of the world and the life within it. Confused, scared, and dying, Rotsabel's million mouths shrieked into the night.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Sleep, my child, sleep," Yoba whispered, "I cannot save you now. Rest, and enrich yourself with new mortal life. When you wake, you will be reborn, and when you are ready, you shall return to me."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And so, Rotsabel the Devourer slept. For two thousand years she will, and when she wakes, she will rise not as god, nor demon, but human. And when her sin is rectified, she shall rise and walk once more among the divine.</em>
</p><p>- The Book of Yoba</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright, alright, I'll admit. I did go a little overboard with the mythology. Aaaand some of the deviations/additions to canon, that'll come up later on. But damn it, let me indulge!!! I've got nothing much else to do. Anyway, leave critique/feedback if you can, babes! &lt;3</p><p> -Love, Lonnie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Awakening (and Getting Used to a Brand-New Body)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What seems like a mere day after her death, Rotsabel reawakens in a strange new world. With a little exploration (and a lot of trying to figure out what the hell she's supposed to do,) she attempts to take a hold of the new life she's been given.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Millions of tortured screams.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Seven holy lights.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Crying. So much crying.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then...darkness.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Rotsabel awakened in a cold sweat. Her chest was struck with a tight, burning pain and her head spun like a flash hurricane, fogging her surroundings beyond recognition. The world was different now, she could sense it.</p><p>As her strength returned, she tried heaving herself up. Strangely, it seemed that her endless supply of limbs was fully under control, not even so much as twitching out of order. Shocked, she merely collapsed once more. She noted that most of them felt strangely numb, as well, as if they weren't there at all. It certainly felt like it, seeing how she also felt quite a bit lighter, but somehow heavier at the same time. Her head <em>(or heads, Rotsabel reminded herself)</em> felt peculiarly clear. Since her brain was but the collective mass of those of the sinners she would consume, Rotsabel's mind was normally clouded with too many thoughts and feelings to comprehend. Some begged for death, others for redemption, or they merely screamed that they didn't deserve this fate. But today, they were quiet. <em>Too</em> quiet. With all these oddities, it felt as if she had an entirely new body.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, wait.</em>
</p><p>Rotsabel grimaced with a brand-new singular face at the thought of the previous night. She rose on two new feet from the surface she laid on- a bed, most likely, though she wasn't an expert on the matter. Though she wouldn't have minded lying a little longer on its softness, there was too much pondering to do. Much too much pondering, taking into consideration the crippling vagueness of Yoba's words. Especially since it felt like the memory of the night had been knocked out of her- or stabbed, more accurately, considering the little dispute she had with her siblings. What did he say, anyways? <em>Sleep,</em> maybe? <em>Something, something, you will return when you're ready?</em> He could have been a little more informative. It was quite rude withholding information from a murder victim. All in all, it appeared that she had 'returned,' as he said. She was awake, at least.</p><p>Curiously, she inspected her surroundings. It appeared to be a little cabin, cozy yet functional. She took an experimental step forward- a little wobbly, but a step is a step. The floor was boarded with spruce, warm and inviting. It creaked beneath with every step as she approached the walls, which were instead cobblestone-bricked. The scene was completed with an extinguished fireplace. Two crossed pickaxes hung above an ancient TV, both obviously unused. The window beside them welcomed in fresh morning sunbeams, illuminating the room nicely. A low tea-table sat near the wall, decorated with a large crystal on top. The outside light swam through its pale indigo body, reflecting back into the cabin in a lovely azure hue. Specks of dust danced through the air, coating nearly every surface. Rotsabel turned her attention to the bed, which was similarly rustic. Its strawberry-and-cream-colored plaid blanket was thrown off haphazardly from when she woke, and the pillow was quite ruffed. It was a charming, homely little place, but she still couldn't wrap her head around why she was there. Nor why they took away her limbs. If it had anything to do with her little mistake...</p><p>"<em>That's</em> it!"</p><p>Her new voice was as much of a surprise as her new body. It was much higher than expected. But that had to be it. A single innocent soul, the cause of all this mess. Stupid, was what it was, that a little err on her part would result in some divine battle and a shitty new body waking up in a musty little cabin in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. Angry and determined, Rotsabel made a silent promise to herself to kick the ass of the next divinity to present itself, even if they took away more of her limbs. But <em>how</em> in particular would her foot reach contact with the ethereal backside in question? The thought, a distraction Rotsabel was grateful for, was interrupted by a knock.</p><p>Though her first instinct was to yell a profanity or two, she noted that the knock proved her previous notion of the cabin being in buttfuck nowhere completely wrong. But considering the circumstances (and the previous mortals she had been exposed to throughout her lifetime,) she pondered if it was worth it to open the door.</p><p>But <em>knock knock,</em> went the mortal once more. Impatient cuckold. Rotsabel thought to smite them.</p><p>She opened the door to face the insubordinate little cunt, but was greeted by a most unexpected sight.</p><p>A dense, rocky scape lay beyond, its surfaces patched with melting snow. It was overgrown to be sure, but not quite a forest. Each tree was capped sparsely with white, the remnants of what seemed to be a harsh winter. Nonetheless, new leaves budded from their branches, and youthful sprigs of grass poked persistently from the ground. It seemed that the land, once a bountiful field, perhaps, had been reclaimed by Mother Nature; her fingers twisting gently through its body and infusing it with a new life, a wild new life. With a closer look, one could tell that the plant life of the demesne was healthy- excited, even, as if they knew a generous spring was approaching. Rotsabel looked far out, and spotted a gently-running stream, cold and clear. Behind it rested an old quarry, lined by a timeworn fence.</p><p>Speaking of timeworn, there was some gray old bastard hindering her glorious view. Mustachioed, no less. The mark of a slut.</p><p>Looking at her, his expression of confused curiosity quickly faded into one of... not-quite horror? It was unreadable. His face was polite enough, but his eyes seemed hesitant, as if he was already calculating how to get away as soon as possible. She hated that look already.</p><p>"E-excuse me, miss-" He began, his voice unsure and a little afraid. "I'm Lewis, the mayor of Pelican Town, and-"</p><p>"Walk with me, septuagenarian. I've got shit to attend to."</p><p>Rotsabel muscled past him -to which he scoffed indignantly- and set about through the overgrowth. It was fenced off, she could see, up to a certain point. Probably neglected farmland, she presumed. She ran her hands along the sides of the trees, tracing the ancient cracks embedded in their bark, gently jostling the branches until the snow fell off with a satisfying <em>plop.</em> The old bastard, Lucas, followed along, though he was having trouble keeping up with her intrepid pace. His temper seemed to get shorter as they walked on, but it wasn't till he interrupted Rotsabel's excursion with a quite loud <em>ahem</em> did she notice.</p><p>"Miss, please listen." He continued, much more confidently. "As I said, my name is Lewis, and I am the mayor of Pelican Town. This property has been abandoned for years, so it was quite a shock seeing you cavorting around in that old cabin this morning. I'd like to know the reason for you being there, if you please, or I'll have to call the authorities."</p><p>"My grandfather was the previous owner."</p><p>The words felt as if they were pulled out of Rotsabel's mouth. She felt more like saying that this twatty Lucas fellow should jog on and mind his own damn business, but she continued quite involuntarily.</p><p>"He left the farm to me after he died. The deed's back in the house, Mr. Mayor."</p><p>Rotsabel's fury spiked in intensity, though she felt that her face was twisted into a polite smile. Her dear family beyond the mortal realm seemed to be interfering, maybe ensuring that she wouldn't screw up her new mortal life. What dicks. She made a mental note to set fire to the nearest church. But the Lewis's concern seemed to reside slightly, though that damn look in his eyes was still there. He resumed his elderly drabble, his confidence dwindling.</p><p>"The old man <em>did</em> mention he had a grandchild...I didn't suppose he'd...well..." He trailed off, not knowing where he was going with his words. "<em>Ahem.</em> Well, welcome to the town, miss. Stardew Valley has some fine soil, and I hope the weather treats you kindly this year. Spring's only a couple of days away, Pierre's should start selling seeds in a couple of days- that's the general store, by the way. I'll admit, the people of the town might be a bit shocked to see someone moving in so suddenly, you know. Especially since...well...they'll get used to you, anyways. Say, did I catch your name?"</p><p>Her <em>name.</em> He wanted her <em>name.</em> She couldn't just introduce herself as Rotsabel the Devourer, even she knew it would be an idiotic move. A stranger appearing in the valley out-of-the-blue and claiming the old farmland and calling themselves an abomination goddess would probably be the dumbest thing she'd ever done- aside from her little mistake, of course. Pent-up fury began to trickle through the cracks as she reminisced on the events of the day and those before it. She made a mistake, and was left weeping with seven holy blades through her heart. Her 'family' forced her into a mortal body in some tumbledown little shitshack in Seagull Village, or whatever it was called, without so much as telling her what she needed to know about it. And they had the gall to pull her strings like a puppet and make her spew some fake-polite idiocy just so she wouldn't screw up whatever relationship <em>they</em> wanted her to have with this slutty-ass mustache man with a stupid cap and suspenders. She wanted to scream. To unleash divine rage upon this hellhole, but Rotsabel knew that it was going to be censored against her will. Besides, the inferior mortal form she sported wasn't capable of divine rage. No inferior mortal form was.</p><p>But...her <em>name</em>. Maybe she had a choice there, for once in her life- no matter how long or short it's been. And it didn't seem like they were going to take it away from her this time.</p><p>It had to be something good, something she could tolerate being called for the rest of her time in this little shitville. But also something that wouldn't be forgotten. Fleshy as she was, Rotsabel's soul was still divine, and a divine soul didn't deserve to be forgotten. She recalled some of her sinners' names, though they tended to get muddled together in the hivemind. One of them stuck out to her- short, sweet, distinct, and non-intimidating. Perhaps that would soothe that stupid look out of the Lucas' eyes.</p><p>She grinned politely at the old bastard, this time by her own accord. He smiled weakly in return.</p><p>"Chaney. My name is Chaney."</p><p>He nodded, still smiling. "Welcome again, Miss Chaney. Hope you make the most out of this new chapter."</p>
<hr/><p>It was only seven in the morning, and Lewis already felt like he needed a drink.</p><p>The breeze was weak, yet undeniably crisp. Though spring was approaching steadily, one could still see their own breath on the wind, flying gently away like dandelion fluff before disappearing into the late-winter air. Lewis' breath came out in labored puffs as he shuffled away from old Olympus Farm, occasionally checking over his shoulder. Miss Chaney was rather idiosyncratic, he had noticed, with a hot-and-cold attitude that he was sure would become quite bothersome in the future. But even so, something (many things, in fact) about the newcomer seeded doubt and suspicious in the back of his mind. The suddenness of her arrival was one of them, especially with the only bus in and out of the town being out of commission. Her appearance, however, was another thing. Under the morning sunlight, her skin seemed almost lavender in hue. Long, pointed ears poked out from behind her hair, twitching at every sound. Her fingers writhed and wriggled like millipede legs, never slowing down or stopping as she ran them along the overgrown trees, and her teeth seemed oddly sharp when she smiled. It was an uncanny experience, all in all. The rest of the town was certainly in for an interesting time.</p><p>The rest of the town...Oh, Yoba.</p><p>Resting against the fence near the bus stop, Lewis' blood ran cold thinking of the dreadful amount of explaining he was in for. As the top authority of the town, he would be the one the civilians would turn to at the appearance of a strange new farmer, no matter how little he actually knew about her. Of course, his experience as mayor would undoubtedly come into play. It was easy enough to simply dress one's flaws in a robe of fancy official-speak and move on with one's life. That was simple enough to do, with a wide enough vocabulary. Sadly, in a small town with a high number of bored middle-aged women, gossip was sure to spread like wildfire. A change in the wind would bring a flood of conspiracy and whispers, but what else did they have to occupy time with?</p><p>Lewis sighed to himself. That poor, puzzling farmer. She was going to get eaten alive.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, well. Can't delay the inevitable.</em>
</p><p>Lewis pulled a small, worn notepad out of his pocket, along with a near-inkless pen. Not the classiest thing to do, but better than nothing. He considered what to write, thoughtfully clicking the pen up-and-down as he mulled his options over. Short, simple, and explanatory were his priorities, taking into account how out-of-nowhere the situation was. A quick notice about Miss Chaney's odd appearance would be useful, but rather rude, socially speaking, so it would have to be left out. She didn't specify whether she was going to do any actual farming or not on the land, so it wouldn't make sense to call her a new 'farmer.' Frustrated already, he scribbled onto the pad;</p><p>
  <em>New townsperson arrived!</em><br/>
<em>Farmland reinhabited,</em><br/>
<em>Be <ins>COURTEOUS!</ins></em>
</p><p>And that was that. Lewis scrawled his signature at the bottom and tore the paper out. A little bit informal, but the 'new townsperson' mentioned didn't seem the type to care, anyways. All that was left to do was pin it up, and he would leave the rest to the townsfolk. He rose from the fence, which was starting to make his behind quite sore, and began a curt stroll to Pierre's.</p><p>Pierre, he thought, would be ecstatic for a new customer. Yoba knows every business-owner in town would be, considering the JojaMart's rapidly-growing hold of the town, which Pierre often considered akin to a fungal infection, or a plague of some sort. While the grocer was the most vocal about it, Lewis thought most everyone to hold some resentment for the mega-corporation. He could hardly bear to see it come up all those years ago, and nowadays he had to watch the good folk of the town throw their money into an ever-hungry pit in return for cheap products with dubious links to various health issues. Not to mention Morris' worship of the damn company. Sam was a regular thorn in his side, but Lewis had looked over his request for someone to set Morris' jaw sideways on the notice board some time ago in vague hopes someone would take it.</p><p>And there, right there, was the work of Morris, clear as day as Lewis approached the bulletin board. In the middle of the damn thing, pinned over various more important notices, was a bright blue JojaMart advertisement calling attention to their spring sale. An underhanded trick, considering the board was right outside Pierre's. But two could play at that game.</p><p>Pinning his own announcement over Joja's, Lewis felt a little surge of pride. He felt like a light in the darkness, as dramatic as that was, bringing such attention to what could be a necessary change for the town. As odd as Miss Chaney was, if she got the farm up and running again, it might be enough to drive Morris and his cronies out of their damn corporate cesspool. But only time would tell, he supposed, so the best thing he could do was cross his fingers and pray to Yoba that not calling the authorities wasn't a mistake.</p><p>He walked away from the board, from Pierre's.</p><p>Things would be different now. Odd as it was, he could sense it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright, a little short. I'm trying my best to fill out my writings a little better, it just seems a bit hollow to me, haha. Also, I've decided to include a drawing every 4th chapter, so that's gonna be fun! As always, leave any critique/feedback you have in the comments, I'll be sure to check it out! Still love all you babes &lt;3333<br/>-Love, Lonnie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Calm before the Storm (Brace Yourself, Pelican Town!)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With the mayor's announcement not yet noticed, the inhabitants of Pelican Town go about the last day of winter minding their own business. Just another uneventful day in Pelican Town. Not the last one, either, at least to their knowledge.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Emily shuffled the set of tarot cards once more.</p><p>She laid them out on the table, exactly how the instructional pamphlet told her to- three neat, equal piles, their backs illuminated by the morning sun spilling through the kitchen window.</p><p>Carefully, she spread them out, feeling the energy of each card beneath her fingers.</p><p>She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and drew one from the gathering. Slowly, deliberately, she opened her eyes, revealing...</p><p>"The Lovers!" Emily slapped the table lightly, nearly upsetting her mug of organic green tea- a precious gift from Caroline she didn't want to waste so easily. "I've gotten the Lovers three times in a row! Upright the first two times, and reversed this time... Oh, fudge, this stuff is frustrating!"</p><p>Haley cringed at her from across the kitchen. "Please, for once in your life, just say 'fuck.' It's not that hard."</p><p>Emily rolled her eyes. Haley merely continued digging through the refrigerator, going back to ignoring her sister's presence. Though a little disheartened, Emily read through her set of instructions. According to the little pamphlet, the Lovers, regarding relationships, signified harmony and satisfaction when upright, and disharmony or imbalance when reversed. She hadn't, however, thought about what <em>kind</em> of relationships, making the pattern all the more perplexing. She was quite excited when Abigail had given the deck to her during the Feast of the Winter Star, but so far it had only wrought confusion and wariness of the future. Nonetheless, she kept turning back to them with the same curiosity as her first time using them.</p><p>Sipping her tea, Emily allowed her mind to wander over the many possibilities. Her job as a barmaid had earned her many friends- or at least acquaintances. A little bit of time and understanding would allow her to become closer with any of them, but some of the regulars didn't seem to be too interested. Shane, of course, was the first to come to mind. Even if he was a little gruff and pessimistic, he'd managed to become a friend she held quite close to her heart. His chicken stories and dry humor were a welcome addition to every night, though seeing him going home staggering afterwards often left her with a feeling of great guilt.</p><p>Clint was also an option, though she wasn't quite sure about how viable he was. She was always the one to initiate conversation, and he had always cut their chats short...Maybe it was meant for Haley, then? The whole 'sisters' thing wasn't exactly enough to keep a strong connection. Though, cards or not, she had always wished they could be closer. The both of them had a flair for fashion, so bonding over clothes was definitely a possibility. Then again, Haley had never been interested in bonding at all, let alone over clothes.</p><p>"Emily. You're thinking. Stop." Haley dug idly into a tupper of leftover salad. <em>At least she's making an effort with her health,</em> Emily thought. "Pretty sure it's a scientific fact that nothing good comes out of you thinking."</p><p>Emily merely shrugged in response. "I was just wondering what the cards meant. I was too vague with what kind of relationships I was wondering about when I drew the-"</p><p>"Wait, <em>relationships? You?</em>" Haley's eyes lit up with an interested -if devious- spark. "You <em>thinking</em> about relationships? Damn, that's a first! Tell me everything. Right now. What did the stupid cards say? Who did they say it was for? What's the dirt?"</p><p>Haley immediately slid into a dining chair, head propped on her hands and ready to listen. Her gossipy nature wasn't exactly one of Emily's favorite traits, but at least she was interested- and in a hobby of hers, no less! <em>Rough start,</em> she thought, <em>but a start nonetheless.</em> Emily began shuffling the cards again, sneaking in a few flashy tricks to keep intrigue. Much to her satisfaction, she noticed Haley's eyes drifting downwards towards her fast-flying fingers. Was she actually impressed?</p><p>"As far as I know, the cards only give hints about the future," She explained patiently. "a little like abstract art, in my point of view. It all has a meaning, but it's up to how the individual interprets it. I didn't have anybody in mind, so Yoba knows what's going to happen. All I can predict is that I might become closer with somebody, though the reversed card isn't giving me hope about how it'll end..."</p><p>Her face was blank, lost in thought. Emily repressed a smile, looking at her sister like this. It seemed that the cards' prediction was coming to fruition.</p><p>She rose from her chair, breaking from her trance. "Well, good luck with that. I'm gonna go take a walk, Alex is usually out by now. See you."</p><p>Haley flounced away uninterestedly, her cascade of blonde hair shimmering on her back as she went. Emily felt a small sting in her spirit, watching her walking away so carelessly. It was nice while it lasted, but what did she expect, anyways? Recalling their previous interactions, it was quite plain to see that any of them had one of two foundations: they were fighting, or Haley had nothing better to do. They had never been the closest siblings, considering how Emily's unorthodox interests were often a point of conflict. Their parents, bless their hearts, weren't exactly helpful, either. It had always been that one should act more like the other- telling Emily to take care of her appearance like Haley, or Haley to try as hard in school as Emily. Her mind unwillingly turned to their years in high school, where Haley fervently denied any connection with her. She'd always say it was a joke, that Emily was being too sensitive. Maybe she was, but it hurt either way.</p><p>Sighing to herself, she arranged the cards back into a tidy deck. She needed to get groceries, anyways.</p><p>Emily quickly got herself into proper order- jacket, wallet, keys, list, and a homemade bag for the foodstuffs. She was quite proud of the embroidery she added on, though her skill was deemed 'pretty' but 'kind of a drag' by her lovely sister.</p><p>Throwing the door open, she let the cold breath of the fading winter wash over her, its last goodbye before the next season. The air was just a tad humid, adding an eager sense of warmth to the atmosphere. The empty pots below the window begged her to fill them with life, but it wasn't their time just yet. She silently promised to buy them some seeds first thing tomorrow morning. Pierre should have been selling them by then, anyways.</p><p>These little intervals had become a favorite time of year for Emily; bidding one season adieu and preparing to welcome another. From watching the snows melt and the spring buds bloom to seeing the leaves slowly donning their autumn best as summer breezes began to chill, she had always drank these moments in. The beautiful changes of nature. She smiled fondly as she wandered down the lane and up to the square as little brown songbirds tittered amongst themselves, chatting like little ladies out on the town. It had been a passing dream of Emily's, talking to the animals. She had always wondered what it would be like to greet them 'good morning,' to see what they would have to say about their lives. She would ask the songbirds and fish what bread crumbs they preferred, and the rabbits why they were so shy. And if she had any luck, they'd greet her back, and tell her about their day. They'd chat for hours, if they could, and wouldn't judge a thought in her head, and Emily would do the same for them.</p><p>Casually approaching Pierre's shop, a little voice -quiet yet stern- scolded her. <em>Wishful thinking never gets you anywhere. Be more realistic.</em> Emily had never liked that voice.</p><p>Waving it away, she turned her attention to the bulletin board. No requests, simply a variety of announcements and advertisements. Aerobics club on Tuesdays, a notice from Sam requesting a drummer for his band, and of course, the garish blue of another JojaMart spring sale promotion. She had been about to stroll into the store, up until noticing a small piece of notepad paper pinned in the promotion's middle.</p><p>
  <em>New townsperson arrived!</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Farmland reinhabited,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Be <ins>COURTEOUS!</ins></em>
</p><p>Pensive, she looked westward- the direction of the old farm. Mayor Lewis' signature was at the bottom, confirming the note's authenticity. Emily had often wandered those rocky, overgrown fields in search of something she herself couldn't figure out. It was therapeutic, a much-needed healing for her tired soul. Others would do the same, occasionally, but she hardly ran into any of them. It was strange, how suddenly the tides had changed, but it was a part of life. One half of her mind smiled, knowing that the old plot would finally be put to use, but the other seemed almost forlorn about the loss. But was it really a loss, if it was never hers to begin with?</p><p>Emily shook her head back into reality. It was silly, being so caught up in property without even considering its new owner. She didn't even know where to start, regarding <em>that</em> aspect. But they had, however, moved into a farm...The prospect of another nature lover in town excited her greatly.</p><p><em>Who knows?</em> She thought. <em>Maybe we'll be friends.</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Pappy?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>On that fateful night some decades ago, Willy had been but a young lad, clinging for dear life to his father's side. It seemed the world was ending, how the heavens fell from above and tore into them, each skyfallen tear cold as the depths of hell. Pappy stood stoic and firm, one arm stroking his son's back and the other shielding his own face from the merciless rain. His steely gaze was locked on a light in the distance, beams calmly revolving against the grimdark sky. A signal of hope for wary seamen.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No need to frighten, boy," He shouted to Willy. "Looks like Poseidon's havin' a tantrum, izz'e?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Willy gripped his Pappy's raincoat tighter. "I'm scared, Pappy. I'm scared."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hot tears streamed down his young face, near steaming against the torrent. The lad thought with all his little heart and soul that it would be the day the ocean swallowed him whole. Not for the last time in his life. Nonetheless, his father howled with laughter as the sky barraged them with liquid cannonballs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What did I just say, boy?!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Like many boys his age, Willy saw his pa as a god among men. How he wished to be so dexterous as to bait his own hook, to be strong enough to pull a whole net out of the ocean by himself. How proud he was to have such a boisterous and proud pappy, and how wonderful it felt to see other children his age turn green with envy as he recounted his pappy's deeds. And as the man stood high and merry in the palm of death, his respect grew even greater. His Pappy kneeled, clapping Willy on the back. His eyes were soft, gentle as he spoke to the boy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Keep your eye on the horizon, skipper." He continued. "No matter where you are, find somewhere to look, and don't stop sailin' till ye get there. Nothin' behind ye, nothing left or right, just keep headin' forward. Got that, son?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Willy nodded, solemn as a widow. "Yes, sir. I'll remember it forever and ever."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pappy's eyes crinkled into a smile. "Now, no need to get so somber, laddy, nobody's died yet." Ruffling the child's hair beneath his heavy hood, he stood back up tall. "Let's get ourselves out a' this stew, hmph?  We've dawdled too long. Yer a man now, think you can help old Pappy out?"</em>
</p><p><em>A </em>man. <em>That day, his pappy declared him a man. Young as he was, Willy knew he would hold that moment dear for a long, long time. A man, like his boisterous and proud pa. His fast-beating heart swelled with delight at the thought. Soon, he would be baiting four thousand hooks at once, hoisting nineteen nets from the sea as if they were simple herring. He wanted to dance and sing in the rain, shout to the world of his manhood. But a man had no time for such revelry. He had work to do now, and was willing to push through.</em></p><p>
  <em>"Ready to help, sir."</em>
</p><p>Alas, for that had been so long ago now. It seemed today that the ocean was taking Willy on a trip down memory lane. Darkness surrounded the ancient vessel, the line between sea and sky blurred by the frenzied storm, much like it had so long ago. Thunder crashed brutally as savage waves gnawed at the boat's worn sides, eager to swallow the soul aboard. The islands in the distance had become mere ghostly blurs against the violent tempest. It was a game of cat and mouse, man versus nature, one mortal against the eternal wrath of Neptune.</p><p>Steering from inside the boat's sheltered cockpit, Willy lit his pipe and gazed outside thoughtfully.</p><p>He'd seen worse.</p><p>Sailing between the Ginger Islands was a dangerous bet he had taken. Tropical storms could be merciless. Willy had known good men lost to the furious seas, and countless others before them. His old pappy had many a story to tell of those who spat in the eye of danger, only for danger to spit back. <em>A true angler has respect for the water,</em> he'd always say. There'd always be some wily young gentleman who would laugh at the old man and tell some tall tale of their feats, but Willy had always taken those words to heart, Yoba rest his pappy's soul. He had learned everything there was to know about fishing from his late father, and he was intent on putting it to use.</p><p>The ship, too, was a family heirloom. Her age shone through every long-lived board, from bow to stern, and it had been a long, long time since she'd last been fixed up. It was a miracle she had survived the trip so far, though it would likely be her last. She'd had a good run in her many years across the seas, and deserved to go out with a bang. He humored the thought of holding her a funeral, dramatic as it was. Elliott would probably compose a memorial poem, maybe an obituary. Gus, of course, would handle catering. Even if Willy had only chosen to invite his close friends, it would be hard to hide such an event from the rest of the little town. If Lewis even heard a rumor about such a happening, he'd end up calling the entire population to the beach clad in black, the sentimental old coot.</p><p>The thunder struck once more, loud and furious. It did not seem a good time to reminisce any longer.</p><p>Filled with grim determination, Willy took unyielding hold of the helm, forcing the ship through mind and body back onto its charted course.</p><p>"Steady, old friend," He muttered through gritted teeth, "Just one last trip, me darlin'."</p><p>Eyes locked on the horizon as his pappy told him, Willy scouted intently for a sign- a signal of hope for one wary fisherman. A blink of light shone in the distance- the edge of the storm, he was sure. A sliver of land beckoned him- the coast of Stardew Valley. He was coming home.</p><p>
  <em>The relief washed over him like a hot bath, almost as great as when he and his pappy finally docked. The old lighthouse keeper took them in, and all three men sat shivering around a pot of soup. The smoky smells of cooked fish and whiskey mingled in the salted sea air, almost comforting in its familiarity. Willy watched intently as the two elders laughed raucously with each other. As if old friends, they exchanged fisherman's tales, truly terrible jokes, and stories of generations long past in their drunken speech as they tripped merrily across the algae-crusted floor, the blazing fire illuminating the glints of their tipsy eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Are ye daft, man!?" The keeper hooted. "A snapper bigger than yer boy there!?  Look at the scrawny thing, a canned sardine would tip the scale on him! Have some more soup, swee'ie, put some meat on those skinny bones."</em>
</p><p><em>Inebriated and swaying, the keeper ladled Willy an extra bowlful of soup, spilling a third of it onto the boy's lap. Willy thanked him nonetheless. </em> <em>Mouth full of steaming fish, he finally spoke. "Pappy says I'm a man now." </em></p><p>
  <em>The old keeper's eyes widened at the lad's statement. "He does, now, eh?"</em>
</p><p><em>"I said what I said," Willy's father added. His voice was unusually sober for the moment "Willy</em> is<em> gettin' older, needs to learn...ach, responsibility and all that. Gonna have a ragin' headache in the morn..."</em></p><p>
  <em>"He's hardly a pup!" The keeper retorted.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pappy shook his head as Willy puffed out his chest indignantly. What Pappy said was word, always. If Pappy said he was a man, he was a man. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Tell me, friend, how old is the boy?" He went on, "Prob'ly hadn't even-"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Eight!" Willy spat. "Eight, and twice the man you are!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A hard pain shot through the back of Willy's head. Pappy's hand lingered in the air as his eyes shot daggers at the boy. "Don't ye talk to our host like that!" He hissed.</em>
</p><p><em>Willy dug his fingers into his lap, staring down at the sea-soaked floorboards. His face was scrunched in shame and hurt. </em> <em>The keeper pat the boy's back sympathetically. "Don't worry, now...Willy, was it?" </em></p><p>
  <em>"A little spirit never hurt nobody," He added, "Don't let a little whack get ye down, boy! I've got some lollies, if a sweet'll make it better..."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pappy scoffed. "Y' say yer a man. Then be a man, son. Lollies are for littl'uns." He set down his bottle, an idea blinking into his face. " 'Ere, have a sip of the good stuff, me boy. Drink with the grown-ups, now." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Willy froze. Trapped between then and soon. Lollies or whiskey, past or future? For a moment, he wished he was back out in the barbaric storm. But he had a choice to make. Clenching his fists, the boy braced himself as he shouted firmly.</em>
</p><p><em>"</em> <em>I</em><em>'ll be a child a thousand years more, for lollies!"</em></p><p>
  <em>The men burst once more into riotous merriment, hollering wildly. The keeper dug clumsily through his pockets, tossing a sweet to the lad. Whatever Willy had said, it was the right thing, apparently. He popped the candy into his mouth, content to spend the rest of the night a child among the adults.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Aunt Marnie! Aunt Marnieeee!"</em>
</p><p>Jas hurtled out of her room at speeds extraordinary to see from one tiny girl, squealing and giggling all the way down. Speeding down the hall, she almost slipped on the polished wood floors, but kept herself upright long enough to barrel into her poor Aunt Marnie in the kitchen, nearly knocking her over in her haste.</p><p>"Save me, Aunt Marnie, <em>save me,</em>" Jas begged, burying her face in her aunt's skirt.</p><p>Dumbstruck and dazed, Marnie wordlessly smoothed her niece's hair. She surveyed the ranch house, looking for what could have possibly put the child into such a stir. Everything seemed to be in order, right down to the freshly-dusted shelves and eggs frying nicely on the stovetop. Then again, there was always a certain factor willing to cause a ruckus. With a closer look, the factor seemed to be scouting out the kitchen from down the hall, still adorned with a plastic tiara and a goofy grin plastered on his face. Catching sight of the two of them, Shane brought his finger to his lips, ordering Marnie to stay quiet as he tiptoed slowly and steadily towards them. </p><p>"There, there, dear," Marnie soothed, "What's going on?"</p><p>Still panting from her escape, Jas' popped her face out a mite, still keeping a death grip on the poor woman.</p><p>"We were gonna have a tea party!" she began. "And- and then I invited Princess Maggota from the zombie kingdom -but they're nice zombies, so don't worry- because we've gotta do some diplomacy-ing, but it was a trap, Aunt Marnie! Can you believe it!?"</p><p>Marnie shook her head in mock horror. Jas nodded vigorously, continuing her story.</p><p>"It wasn't the real Princess Maggota! It was an ogre from the ogre kingdom! And he put my Nerf gun on the high shelf in the closet, so I can't shoot him! And he has bullet-proof skin and- and- hide me, <em>please!"</em></p><p>Finishing her ramble, Jas squeezed even tighter, almost restricting Marnie's breath. "Not so hard, now, Jas!" She chided softly. Shane was coming closer, step by step. She couldn't remember the last time the two of them had frolicked like this together, much less when he had gotten so engaged. As far as she could remember, her nephew hadn't been incredible with kids, but here he was, dolled up as a princess. Wondering what Emily would think seeing him like this, Marnie began to regret not opting for a new camera during the holiday season. Looking closer, she would have sworn Shane's nails had been painted, to boot. </p><p>The little girl gabbled incoherently into her aunt's apron as her godfather approached menacingly. <em>About as menacingly as a grown man in a tiara can manage,</em> Marnie mused, chuckling to herself at the decidedly odd sight. His hands outstretched as he stalked forward, prowling like a panther. Only a hair's length away from the unknowing Jas, Shane pulled back ever so cautiously, and...</p><p>"GOTCHA!"</p><p>Lunging forward, Shane seized the child, sending her into a fit of shrieks and laughter. Knick-knacks were all but knocked from their shelves as he spun her across the room, roaring exaggeratedly as they played. Satisfied with the chaos, he flung the giggling girl over his shoulder, giving Marnie a nod of acknowledgement as she attempted to recover from the heart attack they'd practically given her.</p><p>"Morning, Marn." he said casually. "What's for breakfast?"</p><p>Marnie's mouth pressed into a flat line. Typical Shane.</p><p>"I <em>was</em> making omelets, but I got a little distracted by a certain ogre in the room!" exasperated, she checked once more to ensure everything was in right order. "Look at you, you're riling her up and she isn't even out of her PJs yet! And you're still wearing that crown!"</p><p>Jas giggled guiltily in her purple, unicorn-patterned pajama set, kicking her socked feet every which way. Shane tucked her under his arm, ruffling her dark, puffy hair with his free hand as he headed to the fridge. "Maybe I just wanna feel pretty, hm?"</p><p>Scoffing, Marnie quickly whirled back to the omelet on the stovetop, getting dangerously close to being burnt. Grabbing a well-used flipper, she expertly peeled it from the pan, dropping it onto one of her many mismatched plates with a satisfying <em>plop. </em>Poking out of its surface were various herb choppings and spices, perfuming the air with their pungent yet homely aromas. Sunflower oil popped and sizzled in the pan as Marnie carefully poured another mixture in, already blessed with generous amounts of freshly-cracked pepper, just how she liked it. With how much Jas adored her Shane, she'd probably try drowning her omelet in hot sauce, much to Marnie's dismay.</p><p>Jas wriggled her way out of Shane's grasp, rushing to the table. She narrowly avoided colliding with her aunt for the second time that day, sliding into the chair with a resonating <em>sque-e-ak.</em> Marnie winced slightly as she rested Jas's food on the table, loaded with fresh veggies and herbs both mixed in and on the side. Most unlike her godfather, Jas at least had a taste for healthier dishes. Of course, that could be attributed to the detailed lectures from Doctor Harvey and Miss Penny's recent lessons on the food pyramid.  </p><p>Out of nowhere, a shrieking sob rang out, breaking the comfortable silence of the kitchen. Marnie nearly dropped another omelet on the floor in shock. Shane merely grimaced.</p><p>"Son of a <em>bitch,</em>" he grumbled. A glum frown spread across Jas's face.</p><p>He picked up the phone, silencing his depressing ringtone. Not even bothering with a greeting, the figure on the other side, his voice dripping with saccharine, merrily shouted something into the receiver. Marnie and Jas looked at each other in worry as Shane's eyes glazed over in their familiar fishlike way. He slumped over, responding only with an occasional 'yes, sir' or a grunt of affirmation. They had heard that artificial-sounding voice before, usually greeting them on their occasional trip to the JojaMart when profits from the ranch were too low for Pierre's. Morris, Marnie remembered, Shane's head-up-his-ass boss. <em>Bastard must be pretty flexible from sucking his own dick all the time,</em> he'd always say.</p><p>The phone beeped loudly, signaling the end of the call. "Sam's gotten sick. I'm covering his shift." Shane explained bluntly.</p><p>Jas leaped out of her chair, immediately clinging to Shane's waist before he could head towards the door. "No you're not!" She giggled. Marnie flinched. The girl still hadn't learned when to quit yet.</p><p>Shane wordlessly peeled her from his side, his face blank and eyes dead. He mumbled incoherently- an apology, a curse, an angry complaint about how he asked for New Year's off at the start of the season. Jas wasn't having any of it. She rushed past him down the kitchen hall, firmly placing herself in front of the ranch house door. An unstoppable force against an immovable object.</p><p>"You promised we could hang out today<em>,</em> Shane!" she pleaded. "We didn't even finish our game yet! And you said we could watch <em>Princess Bride</em> too!"</p><p>He shook his head, grabbing his usual grubby hoodie from the coat rack. With an attempt at a genuine smile, Shane ruffled the girl's hair. "Maybe next time, kiddo."</p><p>Gently nudging Jas aside, much to her dismay, he left without a goodbye. She and Marnie stood in the doorway, watching him disappearing down the path. They knew this part of the routine rather well; he'd be gone for most of the day, coming back home at midnight smelling of bitter beer. He wouldn't say a word to them, simply retire to his room.</p><p>They hated that part. Honest to Yoba they did.</p><p>"Maybe, maybe, <em>maybe.</em>" Jas stomped her foot, face scrunched in frustration. Marnie let the girl have her moment, there were far too many times she'd like to have done the same in regards to her nephew.</p><p>She pat her shoulder gently, putting on her best <em>i</em><em>t'll-be-okay </em>smile. "I'll play with you, dear." Marnie offered sympathetically. She was in no shape to be so active with the girl, but it would be better than leaving her to sulk.</p><p>Jas nodded glumly, taking her aunt's hand. As she led the two of them to her room, Marnie found her mind reluctantly wandering back to her nephew. He had almost broken a cycle today, let a glimmer of something <em>good</em> out of his gruff shell. The JojaMart he worked at sucked the soul from his body, and his long nights spent at the saloon didn't help, either. Despite their prominence in his life, they were mere cogs in the bleak machine that kept him in his miserably-repeating concatenations of his days in Pelican Town. </p><p>"Aunt Marnie?" Jas asked meekly.</p><p>"Yes, dear?" Marnie replied.</p><p>"...I need a hug."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Pleasant nothingness gave way to an intrusive glare of light as Elliott awakened from a dreamless slumber. Judging by the raging crick in his neck, it seemed he had fallen asleep at his desk again.</p><p>Grimacing at the pain, he rose unsteadily, trading the past who-knows-how-many hours hunched over his notebook for another round of aimless pacing about his cabin. He was sure that his hair would be a fright in the mirror, but Elliott couldn't even bring himself to care about that in the moment. He vaguely remembered how Leah often chastised him for the life he led- how he didn't eat enough, didn't get out enough, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. As always, he'd counter back that he was seldom hungry, managed exercise indoors, and that he <em>enjoyed</em> what he did, thank you very much. Then again, his line of work wasn't all prose and poetry.</p><p>It was a dangerous world unfurling in his mind. The story of a complex crime family would span across the pages- from the grueling action and forbidden romances to the family's extended history. Heists, million-dollar fortunes, and the people who handled them all had a part to play in the dance of life, but would they follow the steps? And would Elliott ever muster enough creative energy to put it all on the damn paper?</p><p>Of course, the mafia plotline had only been his latest hyperfixation. Countless ideas swirled in his head alongside it, a veritable smorgasbord of artistic opportunity. From the vast galaxies of a science fiction epic to the down-to-earth romance between two lonely souls and their chance meeting, one would think someone like him had a fountain of inspiration to draw from. One would be wrong in that situation. Very, very wrong.</p><p>It was one thing creating an entire universe for readers to indulge in. Elliott had inspiration for <em>that</em> right outside his doorstep. Every little aspect of life could be turned into a magnificent storyline for millennia to come. His nights spent laughing heartily with Willy at the saloon, the cheery gulls cawing in the late-winter sun, even down to the line of ants crawling about a dried puddle of wine on his cabin floor could be something brilliant with the right words involved. He had the words, he truly did. At least that's what he promised himself. Getting them out of his head and onto the blank notebook page was another matter.</p><p>Silly as it was, Elliott cursed his story for not being able to write itself. Was it not enough just to dream? Was it not enough to simply go on poetic, flowery tangents and let his auburn locks flow in the ocean breeze, making the town's middle-aged women swoon?</p><p>Of course it wasn't. But that didn't mean he wouldn't bitch about it.</p><p>Idly braiding his hair as he patrolled the singular room of his shack, Elliott began contemplating. Perhaps he <em>could</em> use a little break, just to refresh his mind before getting back to work. All inspiration and no motivation was making him, as Leah accused, a dull boy. He doubted that the storytellers he idolized spent all their time curled over their own writing desks, complaining about the writing process to themselves, anyway. They were human, like him, with friends to see and limits to stop at. Sometimes that was hard for him to believe; their names were in history as some of the greatest poets and wordsmiths of all time. They had been remembered during their times, and would be remembered for generations more. How could he, a lowly starving artist and his B.A. in English possibly compare?</p><p>Startled, he stopped dead in his tracks. Dear Yoba, he was becoming his parents.</p><p>Elliott quickly made his way to the shack's scarcely used telephone. He, like many of the other townsfolk, preferred the old fashioned intimacy of hand-written letters, but it was no time for such fanciful fineries. He couldn't dial the numbers fast enough, seeing the crisis he was in. His family's doubt curled grim around his heart and mind like a black briar, consuming his hopes and dreams with their thorny  words and obscuring leaves. Luckily for Elliott, he knew just the person to pull him out of such an overgrowth.</p><p>Attempting to calm himself down, he curled the cord around his finger. <em>Easy, now, stress gives you serious split ends</em>, he thought. Maybe it didn't, but he needed the incentive.</p><p>After agonizing seconds of waiting, a voice crackled through.</p><p>"Elliott, you better have a good reason to be calling. You know I'm in the zone with these late-morning vibes."</p><p>A chisel chipped against wood on the other side. He could almost smell the fresh cedar of Leah's little cottage in the woods. Though he hadn't a foggy idea about what a 'vibe' was, Elliott smiled. The zone was a blessed thing to be in for an artist, and the both of them knew that very well. For her sake, he'd attempt to make things brief. </p><p>"Listen, Leah," he began. "I've thought about what you've been saying recently-"</p><p>"I've said a lot of things recently, bud. Try narrowing it down." Leah interrupted.</p><p>Sighing, Elliott continued. "I'm going to try and make this as concise as possible. You know how I can get a tad long-winded..." An amused snort erupted from the receiver. "Yes, yes, I know. The long and short of it is that I'll be taking a little break. Care to join me?"</p><p>The chiselling stopped. Silence. A brief moment of silence.</p><p>"...Who am I talking to again?"</p><p>"Come off it, I just need to clear my mind!" Elliott protested, falling limp onto his bed. "Why don't we have a day to ourselves? A nice Elliott-Leah outing, something to get our minds off the struggles of a starving artist."</p><p>"Alright, alright," Leah replied. "There's some new bar up in Zuzu. Let's go pick up chicks or something this weekend-"</p><p>"Actually, I was thinking something else." He chimed in.</p><p>A moment of silence. "...Pick up guys this weekend?"</p><p>"Tempting offer, but no. Something <em>wholesome,</em> Leah."</p><p>"Alright, now I know this isn't the right guy." Leah chuckled.</p><p>Elliott scoffed incredulously. "What's wrong with wholesome activities?"</p><p>"Weird question for a complete stranger to be asking. Are you a telemarketer? I'm not buying shit from you, I'm an artist for Yoba's sake. I could hardly afford the dirt I had for breakfast."</p><p>The chiseling had started once more as the two of them laughed, more sardonically on Elliott's part, a hint genuine. He could always count on Leah to lighten the mood. She and Willy were his rocks, quite possibly the only things keeping him sane in his life of near isolation. They were there for him, and him for them. Though it was hard not to be in such a small village.</p><p>The two of them chatted as Leah chipped away at her next big project- it would be a hit, she said, she could feel it. Elliott strode back and forth as far as the phone cord would allow him. Not much, but anything to occupy his sleep-stiffened legs. Leah's words were a waterfall, streaming from her little hut the forest to him- everything from her clingy ex and similarly doubtful family to the early shoots of spring onions she was eager to pick, no detail was spared. She was a rambler, though Elliott had to admit he was much, much worse about it. But listening to her was never a chore. He let her carry on with her fascinating musings, picking out bits and pieces to remember for later.</p><p>Her latest obsession was abstract plague-era pieces, where babies looked like full grown men and knights fought snails to bloody ends. She enthused about how fantastical it was, and how she wished she could capture such fantasticism and uniqueness in her own pieces. She inspired a wild fantasy in his mind, of elves and and brigands going against a tyrannical orcish king.  He promised to tell her about it later, to which she began rhapsodizing of a series of clay sculptures in a similar vein. </p><p>"Hey, Elliott, you wanted wholesome?" She asked suddenly, pausing her gushings. "I'll give you wholesome. We'll have a picnic, alright?"</p><p>Struck dumb by her diversion, he allowed her a moment. Even compared to an empire of orcs, a picnic of all things seemed so childish; so whimsical.</p><p>"Something nice, too," Leah carried on. "I'll bring my blanket and that nice bottle of wine, and you can bring the basket and whatever you've got, food-wise. We can meet up near the pier down in the woods, tomorrow morning. How's that sound?"</p><p>After a moment of quiet, Elliott smiled. "I'd like that, Leah. I'd like that."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Gonna be honest, this was 6000 words of pure, unadulturated, unfiltered filler. The last few chapters were just me getting my writing pants on and trying out a few different things, this one was&lt;3<br/>-Love, Lonnie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Out of the Frying Pan (And Into the Quaint Seaside Village)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With an unexpected (and most unwanted) visit from an old friend, Chaney finally leaves her self-imposed isolation to interact with other humans.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chaney's eyelids drooped heavily as she gaped blank-faced at the faintly crackling television screen. The world around her had become mere background noise in the presence of the strange technology. Hypnotized, she jotted down notes, just as she had done the past 24 hours. Her hands felt like lead, fingertips stained deep gray as time ticked away. Messy black ink littered the lines of her notepad in disorganized ramble, just the way she liked it. Humanity, she had noticed, had progressed significantly since she had last walked among the divine. She quietly thanked the mystical little box, for it had taught her many things, and it hadn't been even a decade yet.</p><p>It had been two thousand years since her death. A blink of the eye for a being whose life spanned multiple aeons.</p><p>She was in Pelican Town, which was in Stardew Valley, which was part of the Ferngill Republic, which was at war with the Gotoro Empire.</p><p>Zuzu City was about eight miles away, whatever that place was.</p><p>It was the official first of Spring. Tomorrow would be a clear, sunny day.</p><p>The spirits would be very happy today. They'd do their best to shower everyone with good fortune.</p><p>The Ferngill Republic was going to shit because of the liberals.</p><p>The Ferngill Republic was going to shit because of the conservatives.</p><p>Try a refreshing Joja Cola. </p><p>Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnny Rae, South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio. </p><p>Her eyes strained and ached, watching some well-seasoned expert explain the intricacies of agricultural economics. His hands darted every which way, gesturing wildly at his invisible numbers and figures. His speech was starting to blend together after so long, words and digits and quantities slurring over and mixing until nothing meant anything anymore. Chaney wondered in sleepy amazement how far mathematics and technology had leapt in the short time she'd been gone. Strange machines called 'tractors' roamed the modern fields, which now swept across hundreds of acres, replacing the heavy plows of yester millennia. They were pushed by some new form of magic called an <em>internal combustion engine-</em> little devices that would be found in most machinery, or so the farm 'mechanic' had claimed. It seemed only yesterday that fire was the highest achievement of mankind.</p><p>The expert was much different from the mechanic, she noticed. While the mechanic had a simple, easy twang to him, the expert's energy was completely gray, his voice dreadfully monotone as he prattled. Even he seemed uninterested in his own subject. Her head dizzied and swirled watching him, but damn it, if she was on a farm, then a farmer she would be. Even if it would involve much more math than thousands of years ago. </p><p>Cracking her head from side to side, she rose quickly, shaking off unwanted sleep from her brain. Her calculations seemed to be in order- at least as in order as they could be. Even if her realm was one of sin, discord, and chaos, a bit of logic and order to challenge one's eternal mind was always a much-enjoyed treat to be had. </p><p>She trotted up to the sparse, weather-stained window, gazing outside at her new land, big and wide. An unfamiliar sensation pooled in her gut as she looked at it all. The sky was so much bigger than she remembered, blue as a jaybird's tears. Her stomach lurched. Both color and an incomprehensible infinity were rather unorthodox concepts for her to grasp. She harkened back to days long past, when her arms spread far and wide and eyes saw every angle of creation. While the world was void of hue and true life, she had much more to live for.</p><p>The days of Rotsabel the Devourer crept slowly back into her consciousness, hideous spite taking root as her death came back to memory. The omnipresence expected of immortals was trapped beneath a prison of flesh much more grand than her new one- writhing, toiling limbs, melded together as she forced them to claw across the immaterial plane. Their bodies and souls belonged to her, besmirched with sin and dishonor. Flesh and blood would fill their senses as she forced their weeping, drooling mouth of mouths to tear through the next evildoer. Their mind, <em>her</em> mind, was wrought with regret, and she made sure of it. Pleas of mercy and desperate bids for control echoed endlessly throughout the centuries. There was no judge, no jury, no law or order. There was only Rotsabel, and the boundless suffering, for their world thereafter.</p><p>It all came to an end with the consumption of a single soul, she recalled. Pure, unlike those wracked with sin whom she had before. Tasted nasty, he did, and she was punished for it. Pure souls had never made their way through before. <em>How was I supposed to know?</em> She protested. <em>It was an accident, accident, accident... </em>And then the world went black.</p><p>A cold bump startled Chaney from her memory. It appeared that her nose had met suddenly with the window glass during her reminiscing.</p><p>It was safe to say that her new form was less than ideal. Limited beyond belief compared to what she was used to. She hated, hated, <em>hated</em> it, in all honesty. She could feel the sinful nature of humanity coursing through her veins already. She invoked the memory of how she had been controlled the day previous- was <em>that</em> how her prey had felt, under her reign? Chaney scoffed angrily aloud. At least they deserved their suffering. She was their punisher, justice incarnate, even if she was the one who held rule over their evil.</p><p>In her philosophizing, Chaney almost missed a tell tale knock at the door. She almost groaned; she had had enough of the mayor of Pelican Town yesterday. She looked about the cabin for a weapon of some sorts, perhaps at least a broom to chase him off with. </p><p>With nothing adequate in sight, she slammed the door open<em>.</em> Instead of the mayor, she was greeted by someone very much different. A little lady stood in the doorway, short, stout, and bright-eyed as the early spring chill flooded into the house. Her neatly combed woodchuck brown hair shone like a halo in the early morning. A furry lump sat by her side, curled tightly into a tired ball. She donned a long,  sturdy bottle green pinafore dress over a knit sweater the color of autumn. Chaney appreciated her energy, pure and simple and soothing, even if she had that same 'I'd-rather-be-anywhere-else' look as the Lewis.</p><p>She'd almost forgotten how much it bothered her.</p><p>"Well, hello...you!" the lady greeted, a grin plastered onto her face, not quite reaching her eyes. She fiddled nervously with the thick braid resting on her shoulder, making a disturbing amount of eye contact while simultaneously seeming as if she'd rather not be. </p><p>The furry lump unfurled by her side, revealing itself to be a handsome feline. She remembered the farm on the television having a cat. Excitement began to simmer at the prospect of a loyal mouser to aid in her exploits. His fur was short, sleek, and daffodil yellow. Lucky green eyes glistened in the morning light, piercing her own in a sense unusually wise for a cat. As strange as it was, he was somewhat familiar to Chaney, in aura. She couldn't quite place it, but she had felt him before. Long, long ago.</p><p>"Mayor Lewis told me you just arrived;" she continued. "Marnie Abernathy. Glad to meet you. I sell livestock and animal care products at my ranch. You should swing by sometime."</p><p>Her voice was sunny and cheerful, with a twang much like the farm mechanic's. Chaney refrained from answering, glaring intently at the cat as he gazed back, his manner vague and aloof. Her mouth remained shut as her mind screamed a thousand words, all of which told her to run. But from what? And why? An uncomfortable silence soon settled between the two. Marnie rolled on the balls of her feet, shifting awkwardly as the porch boards squeaked beneath her. "Is...this your cat?" She asked nervously.</p><p>"Nay. Yours?" Chaney replied flatly.</p><p>"Oh, no!" Marnie chuckled. "I found it sitting outside your farm! I think it's a stray...poor thing."</p><p>For a stray, he was particularly well-groomed, with a decidedly calm yet repelling aura. It was languid yet bright, like a summer brook babbling across water-smoothed stones. Something about it made her fidget horribly. He was holding back, she noticed. Not many creatures could mask their aura so lightly. The little thing was the first, and queerest, feline Chaney had met in her fourteen billion years.</p><p>"Hey, um...miss?"</p><p>She switched her focus to Marnie.</p><p>"Really sorry to be asking this of a new neighbor," she started, "but don't you think the farm could use a good ca-"</p><p>"I'll take him." Chaney declared.</p><p>Chaney leaned over to pick up the cat, who leapt gracefully into her arms. Shocked by how quickly he attuned to her, she pat his silky back with a sharp grin. He would definitely do well on the farm. Marnie laughed. "Looks like he'd stay either way!"</p><p>"Cats will be cats. And I suppose cats are inherently...what's the word? <em>Bastards.</em>" Chaney explained.</p><p>The look of discomfort faded from Marnie's face, changing to one of genuine enjoyment. With a smile of her own, the little lady scratched the cat's chin, to which he happily lifted his head. He had the look of a creature completely content in life, with nothing to gain or lose. </p><p>"I'm Chaney, by the way," she added. "Good to meet you, miss."</p><p>"Well, nice to meet you too! I'm...wait, did I tell you yet? Oh, sheesh, I'm getting old."</p><p>"How old, twenty-seven?" Chaney asked, beaming jauntily. She felt like it was what the weatherman would do.</p><p>"Oh, you charmer!" Marnie giggled. "I'll leave you and the little man to the farm, okay? Stop by the ranch down south if you need anything!"</p><p>Marnie waved, seeing herself off. Chaney swelled with pride, her conversation skills startling even herself. A smooth confidence had seized the reigns, batting away the scared goblin running her conscious. Part of her wondered if it was only the superficial charm taught to her by the numerous sociopaths she had dealt with in the immaterial plane, but she was much too modern and on-the-go for that, she convinced herself. She would play this world like a child's game, sweet-talking all her denizens until she'd be the one pulling the strings.</p><p>A paw batted at her chin, the source's body purring pleasantly in her arms.The mysterious yellow felid.</p><p>She brought the creature inside, awkwardly closing the door behind her. He wiggled impatiently from her hold, dropping onto the floor and padding gracefully through the room. His air was one of nonchalance, on top of his increasingly unsettling aura. He seemed so harmless, docile even. There was no intent of malice in the tom, but Chaney's hands still shook looking in his emerald eyes. He was knowing, she decided. <em>Too</em> knowing.</p><p>Chaney lowered herself onto the floor, resting her head on her hands as she lay on her front. She locked gazes with the little golden cat in the middle of the room, searching for something, anything to answer her million questions. For a moment, there was nothing. Only the ordinary lay before her; ordinary as the peculiar tom could be. Slowly, slowly, the aura began pervading her being. She could feel him, his emotions, almost seeing through his view. A sense of cool calmness came over her. Her hands no longer shook, the voice in the back of her head screaming at her to run growing quieter and quieter. The world felt like still water, chirping birds and the rustling of leaves outside fading away before the tranquility. She wanted to sit forever in the peacefulness. A willow in the breeze, a wave lapping against the shore, a mere human boring into the eyes of a cat.</p><p>***</p><p>"You. Little. <em>Shit.</em>"</p><p>She slammed her fist into the floor. <em>Hard.</em> The pain shocked her out of the trance. A welcome sensation.</p><p>"Had fun, baby?" The cat drawled lazily.</p><p>Anger shot through Chaney's once-calm mind as she forced herself off the cabin floor. She would have been shocked, but considering the circumstances, Chaney decided that anger would have to come first. Her blood boiled staring at the vile creature sitting placidly before her, as if he hadn't wronged her like he did two thousand years ago. The pain nearly seared her heart just looking at him, the first of the seven holy lights she had come to hate. But there he rested, the god of mankind, his immortal soul twisted into the illusion of a cat.</p><p>Feline or not, Abellio was a son of a bitch, as far as Chaney was concerned.</p><p>Quelling her rage with deep breaths, she glanced about the room for something- <em>anything </em>to keep her from breaking his neck. She noticed a closet near the bed, which she deemed good enough. Rushing to the paneled door, she forced it open, revealing a mass of clutter. She thanked her lucky stars. If it weren't for the disarray, she would have thought to hide inside herself.</p><p>From the corner of her eye, she noticed Abellio calculating a spring. "Alright, Rotsy. Let's talk like adults, hm?"</p><p>"Yeah, until you fuckin' stab me again for a minor mistake, you tapeworm."</p><p>Abellio jumped, landing a tad clumsily on the table, the crystal atop it shaking slightly from the impact. "You remember that?" He asked meekly.</p><p>Chaney's temper shortened significantly at the question. Of <em>course</em> she'd remember that. Why <em>wouldn't</em> she remember that? Her hands grabbed randomly at a mess on one of the shelves, landing on an old-fashioned framed photograph. Looking closer, it appeared to be a large family. A tweedy old man with wild hair and round glasses sat in the middle, attempting to look as dignified as possible with seven rowdy youngsters hanging off his arms. They looked like young adults, all dressed in farm garb. Faded pen in a top corner read <em>"</em><em>FINCH FAMILY- SPRING '79".</em> On the back, she found a tangle of signatures, the largest being of one Thad Finch. The loopy cursive stood out among the scrawl. </p><p>"Would <em>you</em> remember being stripped of your godhood and left to die a painful death?" Chaney queried, mock-politeness rampant in her voice. "The answer is yes, you pisshole. I remember everything. I'm not a damn animal."</p><p>"Listen, sugar," Abellio pleaded. "I'm here to help, okay? I was a massive dick back then-"</p><p>That was it. Chaney's anger finally boiled over. "A <em>DICK! </em>Halle-<em>fucking</em>-lujah, he realizes!"</p><p>Abellio opened his cat-mouth to speak. She whipped around, face wrenched in fury. If looks could kill, Abellio was sure his immortality wouldn't do much against her mood.</p><p>"Listen, <em>sugar,</em>" Chaney spat. "A 'dick' is what you are when you trample your neighbor's crops. Fuck, maybe even sacrifice one of their chickens without asking. When you put your little sister down like a lame horse for doing her job and come back like nothing happened, you're more than a dick. You're a certified murderer-ass shitwagon."</p><p>"Okay, I'm a certified murderer-ass shitwagon," Abellio admitted reluctantly. "and you know that I'm not one to admit my flaws. I've worked on that over your whole...hibernation."</p><p>"Murder-induced coma."</p><p>"Fine, murder-induced coma. And I'm sorry for trying to screw with you with all that aura junk earlier."</p><p>Chaney hadn't even thought of that. She was convinced that he was trying his best to induce as much outrage in her as possible. She shook her head, almost exhausted from her brother's visit.</p><p>She turned back, forcing her hands into the closet's gratuitous mess, excavating moleishly through the piles and shelves and moth-eaten threadbare clothes. The photograph was lost in its ancient bretheren. It was almost soothing, exhuming a past she didn't experience. Every bit and piece was part of the puzzle of an untold tale, an artefact of a life long-gone. Among the oddments, Chaney unearthed a worn brown baker boy's cap. The anger subsided momentarily, looking at it. It gave her a fuzzy feeling, this time not induced by aura projections. Her lips quirked up into a half smile. <em>Mine now, </em>she thought.</p><p>"That was Pap's, you know."</p><p>The fuzzy feeling faded into a whisper at the sound of Abellio's cat-voice. Chaney grimaced; she had a jolly time while she forgot he was there. The mention of a 'pap' piqued her curiosity.</p><p>"Pap...? As in Yoba?"</p><p>"Yeah! Who do you think Thad Finch was?" Abellio leapt once more, clearing most of the cabin's singular room before landing and burrowing into the pile. "We all lived out a life here, a while back. Conjured up everybody an avatar, bought the farm, had our fun with the locals, and went ahead living and dying like mortals do. Gotta tell you, Stardew was a lot more bitchin' back in the day." He paused apologetically. "Sorry for like, not inviting you, baby. You seemed a bit...tied up."</p><p>"And by tied up, you mean dead."</p><p>"In any case," he interjected. "You're here now. You've got this junkyard all to yourself. And, sugar, the best part is -look at me, now- you've got potential."</p><p>Chaney inspected her new cap thoroughly, exceedingly disinterested in what her brother had to say. "...Potential."</p><p>"Potential, baby! I saw how nice you played with that Marnie lady, you'll be a social butterfly once we get all that sinner shit out of your system."</p><p>Chaney hummed noncommittally, pulling the cap atop her head. With a few tugs and adjustments, she straightened her back, satisfied.</p><p>Abellio looked up at her from the junkpile, an old vintage canvas backpack hanging by the straps from between his teeth. The heavy fabric would have been hell for an ordinary cat to lift. The exasperation was evident in his eyes, yet both siblings knew that neither would give up without a fight. He dropped it simply at her feet, pulling the top open and crawling inside. "Okay, listening to me or not, you'll have to meet the townsfolk eventually. I'll be helping you out. They won't be able to hear me, but you might have to keep quiet if you want to chat. The whole mortal body, immortal soul thing you have going on really complicates things, you know?"</p><p>She mulled over her options. Like he said, she would have to meet the townsfolk. If the warlords and dictators of the past had taught her anything, it was better to have friends than enemies- at least if one's friends were stronger than their enemies. It was strange being so alone and vulnerable, and as much as she hated to admit it, divine interference would make her life much easier. </p><p>"Three conditions, bitch." Chaney declared. "No manipulating my actions to further your aims for my life, let <em>me</em> choose who I want to talk to, and no getting pissy with me for not knowing basic shit about interactions. I've lived literally thousands of years with the worst humans alive influencing me, I'm not gonna be seducing them with my wit and charm right off the bat."</p><p>"You got it, sugar!" Abellio grinned kittishly, kneading the fabric excitedly with his claws. "You know, a kitty in a bag will make a great conversation starter. And you're a cutie, too, so that should help. I think we'll make a decent team, don't you think?"</p><p>Chaney harrumphed, throwing the bag over her back, cat and all. Abellio whooped excitedly, forepaws hung over the edge comfortably. His sleek body fluffed up as he purred happily. A <em>cutie, </em>he called her. The thought of it made Chaney gag as she ambled over to the door. With a deep breath and a vigorous shake of her head, she threw it open, marching out with a a renewed determination to succeed and thrive.</p><p>Yesterday's snow had been reduced to bits, yet the chill on the breeze was still fresh. Wild daisies and dandelions and daffodils had already begun to bud, peeking their way out from the overgrown wild grasses. The beauty of true life was still yet alien to the godling, but not even she could deny the allure of the air perfumed by wildflowers and pine and rocked acres, all beneath the endless pale blue sky. Life had always been a forbidden fruit to her, something she only knew of from the muddled memories of the damned, swirled and disjointed by their melded consciousness. Chaney supposed that the moment was rather special, seeing real nature for the first time. Scary as it may have been, the sun beckoned her forth, warming her skin pleasantly with their gentle rays, and who was she to deny the call of the earth?</p><p>Chaney gave a mighty leap, grinning as she came to rest on bent knees on the hard-packed, sun-baked dirt. In its many years of neglect, the quarry farm had doubtlessly become almost inhospitable to the faint-hearted domestic plants. She cared not for whatever nature intended- if she could thrive without life for all her years, she would be able to make sure her crops did, too. A <em>farmer.</em> The word was so beautiful on her tongue, she wanted to dance through the fields telling it to the world. Chaney was a farmer, with her own plot of land to tame. Her sinners would be dearly missed, but she promised to handle it later. A farmer, a farmer, a farmer she was, and a farmer she would be, immortal or not! </p><p>On her way out of her beautiful wild farmland, she stopped frequently, investigating every rock and leaf and modern progression. While Abellio's explanations were unrequested (and his enthusiasm to 'get along' quite unreciprocated,) his long-lived wisdom would prove to be quite useful. The wiry trees with the broad leaves were known as <em>Acer</em> <em>saccharum,</em> the sugar maple, and could be tapped for a sweet treat. The large metal box was a bus, which operated similarly to a tractor, and carried people for many miles. The stone she had nearly tripped on was called limestone, and was quite pretty, if a little dusty. She dropped the rather large piece it in the bag, much to Abellio's feline chagrin. She merely smiled once more. Both pissing off her brother and collecting random shit had already rooted themselves as common hobbies of hers.</p><p>As she approached the town, her core began to curl in a most uneasy way. Both the Lewis and Miss Marnie Abernathy had been relatively easy to handle, with the Lewis being positively beneath her and Miss Marnie having such a sweet energy about her. The high of nature was beginning to fade in the return of a crippling bout of anxiety. Memories of the horrible punishments served by sinners began to flood in, whips and crosses dancing devilishly. It was one thing to hear of them in the body of a goddess, but with a new mortal form, she wasn't nearly as prepared as she'd like to have been. If the world was a stage, and she a mere performer, she had probably forgotten her lines and eaten the script somehow in the process.</p><p>Abellio meowed impatiently, pushing her on. She sighed, knowing that standing outside and dawdling wouldn't get her anywhere.</p><p><em>If experience is the mother of wisdom,</em> she conceded, <em>I'm</em><em> about to get real damn wise. </em></p><p>*** </p><p>"Go on, talk to him!" Abellio urged desperately. "Let me have get a closer look, damn you!"</p><p>Chaney merely forced her face further into the old map. She was hardly a few steps into town, and Abellio was already lusting after some stranger. He sat past a cozy wooden fence in a little park area, reading a book beneath a thick, budding tree, blissfully unaware of the pair of hungry feline eyes locked on his every movement. The poor fellow was mustachioed, neatly trimmed as his short brown hair, which was tinged ever so slightly with gray. His coat was a deep, professional green, and his glasses were thick as bottles. He seemed a respectable fellow, with a meek and modest yet intelligent aura. Chaney wouldn't have minded talking to the man, the kind aura rather soothed her nerves. But she couldn't help but watch in glee as Abellio's lecherous nature led him to such suffering. Par for the course for the god of man, for even if he embodied their muse, he also took their flaws. And <em>flaws</em> included an incurable thirst for men, with which he terrorized mankind for thousands of years.</p><p>"Suck it, Lollo." Chaney whispered happily.</p><p>"Believe me, I'd <em>like</em> to," he grumbled back in irritation. His irked look wasn't so intimidating on such a small face. The more terrifying of his expressions was the light of an idea twinkling suddenly in his eyes, one Chaney was too late in discerning.</p><p>Without a warning, he clawed his way out of the bag and down Chaney's body, dropping hastily to the stone-brick path. Abellio zoomed as fast as he could reasonably manage to his newest object of affection. The scholar (Chaney presumed he was,) watched in awe as the cat twisted around his legs, purring and meowing loudly. The stranger's face split into a wide grin as soon as he figured out what was going on, his voice high as he cooed adoring compliments to the mouser. Many a <em>'l</em><em>ook at you!'</em> and <em>'where did you come from?' </em>slipped from his lips as he ran his hands along Abellio's sides, scratching him expertly. Abellio purred even louder, soaking in the attention like a smug little lizard on a sunlit rock. He rolled on his belly expectantly, to which the stranger obliged with excited rubbings. Chaney wondered whether the satisfaction on her brother's face could be smacked off or not.</p><p>Abellio had just settled on his new boy-toy's lap when the unfortunate gentleman finally noticed Chaney watching the ordeal, map crushed thin in one hand out of surprise. The admiring look on his face quickly transitioned to one of shock and mild horror.</p><p>"This, erm...This cat yours?" he inquired mildly, his voice much deeper than earlier.</p><p>"As 'mine' as a crazy son of a bitch like him will allow," Chaney answered. "kinda does his own thing, as you just saw. He has that effect on people, by the way."</p><p>Abellio mewled, a guilty plea. Chaney nearly pumped her fist in the air when the stranger laughed. She was getting good.</p><p>He stroked the feline, seemingly relieved. He still held a touch of discomfort. "Anyway...Erm, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm the local doctor, Harvey Dawson- everybody calls me Harvey, so, um, feel free to do that, too."</p><p>Not a scholar, but a doctor. She should have known, judging by the issue of <em>Knee Surgery Enthusiast</em> sitting neglected in the grass. M.D. or not, he was unreadable. Chaney questioned whether it was her who made him squirm, or if he was just that awkward.</p><p>"A <em>doctor!</em>" Abellio sighed. "Stars above, take me now! I've found the dilf of my dreams!"</p><p>Chaney questioned whether it would be appropriate to ask her cat what the fuck a dilf was in the moment, but decided to veto that option. The idea of a doctor was intriguing enough, and the conversation was already leaning towards a dangerously unpleasant lull.</p><p>"So, modern medicine! How's it been going with all that?"</p><p>"Pardon?"</p><p>"You know, all that...penicillin, I think? And antibiotics! Shit," Chaney pondered aloud. "considering how old the universe is, y'really made a big leap. It seemed like yesterday when we were making virgin sacrifices. Fun stuff, but a little dramatic am I right?"</p><p>The good Doctor Harvey seemed completely lost. "Of course, technology typically evolves at an exponential rate amongst mor- <em>humans,</em> so who knows what the fuck'll come up next?" She added helpfully.</p><p>Words seemed stuck in Harvey's throat. He opened his mouth to speak, only managing to bob like a fish for a moment before nodding. He quickly donned a polite -if strained- grin. "An, erm, interesting observation, miss...?"</p><p>"Chaney. Just Chaney. Rest assured that I have not made many virgin sacrifices in my lifetime."</p><p>"Very comforting." He batted a deflated-looking Abellio off his lap, standing up hastily. He was rather tall, up straight. "The clinic opens at nine. I trust I'll see you there if anything happens?"</p><p>"Sure. You're fun. Later!"</p><p>Harvey waved stiffly before speed-walking to the nearby clinic, a small, sterile white building beside the local grocer's. Abellio looked longingly at him as he made his escape, soon turning his gaze to the responsible party, more than a little miffed at the loss of his chosen sweetheart.</p><p>"Rotsa. Sugar. My favorite little goblin. What in the galaxy was that?"</p><p>He climbed ungently back up Chaney's legs, plopping himself in the bag off her shoulders. "A friendly chat." She said blankly. "What, did I do something?"</p><p>"The whole virgin sacrifice thing, doll. Your whole <em>'c</em><em>ats are shitlords'  </em>schtick is okay, but that's a little bit of a no-go to talk about nowadays. Am I making myself clear?"</p><p>"It's true, though. I got a lot of virgin sacrifices back in the day, and technology was in the crapper back then."</p><p>With the cat back in the pack, she trudged onwards, unbothered. A scaredy giant had never phased her before, not that she'd had much experience with his type. The town was as small as she knew it would be, nestled cozily in the arms of nature. Between every otherwise average suburban house and shop was a bright variety of greenery. Grasses peeked curiously from the minimal spaces and cracks in the bricks and fence bottoms. Ivy twisted through brick and wood, fingers digging snugly into the walls through chipped yet vibrant paint and varnish. The earth was but a young doe, poking her nose curiously through every chink in the wall and break in the pave. Chaney welcomed the waving weeds in the wind like an old friend, yet so new at the same time. She held no grudge against her, though the fawn's mistress was another story.</p><p>Her legs took her down the unusual roads, drinking in the town's empty morning. Hardly a soul was outside, save for chittering wildlife scampering in the bushes. The opportunity to observe modern society was fascinating, though the circumstances weren't appreciated.  </p><p>"Hey, hold on, a garbage can!" Chaney gestured excitedly at the metal can. It sat just outside a well-to-do manor, glimmering enticingly. "There's stuff in there. I'm gonna do a little excavation. Lollo, watch my back."</p><p>"Excavation...in the trash can. "</p><p>"It's the least you can do, then, Stabs McGee." </p><p>"Ugh. Fine." Abellio surrendered begrudgingly. "If you get caught, you're a social outcast, you know."</p><p>"And who said I cared?"</p><p>Chaney carefully removed the gleaming silver lid, soon plunging as far as she could reach inside. Mounds of shredded paper met her fingertips, along with something hard beneath it all. <em>A politician</em>, she decided. <em>Most likely that Lewis dork. </em>She only further, grazing the top of the heavier object. It was cool and rough, she felt. The mystery only made her adventure that much more alluring, along with the undeniable interest of further angering her brother. With a tremendous stretch, she managed to grasp it, pulling it from the heap.</p><p>The spoils sparkled brightly in her hands. A beautifully deep purple, it was, facets smooth and glassy. Its raw beauty was only enhanced by the numerous impurities at its base. A broken geode, it was, chock-full of glamorous amethyst crystals.</p><p>"...What are you doing?"</p><p>A posh voice broke through her focus. Without looking so much as stowing away her prize, Chaney wheeled around. Looking at the new stranger, she was sure Abellio wouldn't approve of her behavior. The offending feline sheepishly averted his stare .</p><p>He was well-dressed- crimson overcoat, slacks, dress shoes and all. Beneath the coat he sported an olive-green turtleneck, a fashionable choice. A basket hung from his arm, and a well-groomed cloud of long, thick, coppery strawberry blonde hair cascaded from his head down to his back. His aura was more confident than the Harvey's, heralding the same wisdom, yet faintly more prideful. His features were clear, unobscured by the cursed facial hair the males of the town seemed to inherit. Chaney presumed his handsome face to be the source of his snobbish energy. </p><p>The longer their eyes locked, the more Chaney wanted to laugh. Stifled giggles had already started to escape her desperate repression, egged on as the situation became more and more uncomfortable for the both of them. She wasn't sure if it was just to calm her nerves, or the simple absurdity of the situation that sparked her amusement. Whatever the situation, it was a mine, and she had struck comedy gold (<em>O</em><em>r comedy amethyst,</em> she mused.)</p><p>"Digging." She finally answered.</p><p>"In...the mayor's trash."</p><p>"Obviously. What are <em>you </em>doing?"</p><p>With a simple question, she had ensnared the poor sucker in a conversation. She was fully sure that Abellio couldn't be disappointed further, not that she could see his expression of definite distress. The gentleman's lips pressed into a tight line. His look of discomfort nourished her soul in how hilarious it was. Societal expectations and social cues were but a game to the common mortal, and though wasn't a winner by any means, boy did she have fun playing.</p><p>"Leaving, now." he explained curtly. "Good luck, I suppose."</p><p>In his typical perch inside her bag, Abellio shook his head. A most unfeline gesture, but he was past the point of caring. His patience, which he often thought to be generous, was wearing thin with his little sister. He truly tried wrapping his head around what the hell she was doing, what she could possibly be aiming to achieve with such ridiculousness. Understandable or not, Chaney was doing what she wanted, which, much to his dismay, was about as mortal-friendly as her original form. Though a conversation that nearly pained him physically was a far cry from her old eldritch self, it hardly made things any better. </p><p>As the second stranger of the day made his getaway, the dam finally broke. The short-held hideous laughter finally fled its imprisonment as she lidded the trash can, attracting a quick glance from her new friend. The fearful look in his eyes sent her into further hysterics. It didn't bother her nearly as much as the discomfort the Lewis gave her, along with his disgusting fake-politeness. At least the new stranger had the decency to look terrified at her oddities, much like her sinners once did.</p><p>"Don't do drugs, kids!" Chaney cackled, snorting madly through her giggles.</p><p>The smartly-dressed figure simply proceeded with speeding off into the distance as courteously possible. Considering their miserable interaction, hopefully never to be seen again. Chaney craned her neck to face a worn-out Abellio, her mouth still split into a goofy grin.</p><p>"How'd I do, <em>Lollo?</em>" She asked innocently.</p><p>Abellio cringed at the nickname. "That sounds like a tire brand, Rotsa."</p><p>Chaney stuck her tongue out petulantly as he rolled his eyes. She continued her wandering, quickly coming across a sturdy cobblestone bridge over a slow-flowing river. She looked over the edge, her reflection blurred by the movement. Water-smoothed stones lay beneath the surface of the creek, sleek and shiny. "Really, though. I hate you. How'd I handle that?"</p><p>"Let's just say you've got a lot to learn, sugar."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aaaaand on the newest issue of Lonnie Relies Too Heavily on Dialogue! I'm trying to get better at that XD. Better work to come next chapter, hope y'all liked meeting Abellio! He's gonna stick around, god help y'all, so good luck handling his horny ass for the rest of AAGG! Aaand the doodle, as promised.</p><p>https://lonely-in-the-valley.tumblr.com/post/650845107136888832/httpsarchiveofourownorgworks28684107chapters</p><p>-Love, Lonnie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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